


Unfamiliar Territory

by madelgard



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Blood Drinking, D/s undertones, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Mild Gore, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24762499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madelgard/pseuds/madelgard
Summary: “I’m not upset that youkilledyour familiar. I’m upset that I didn’t know that you liked tofuckyour familiars.”Wherein Guillermo discovers that Nandor has very particular tastes when it comes to familiars, and the revelation shifts the shade of his servitude forever.
Relationships: Guillermo/Nandor the Relentless (What We Do in the Shadows TV)
Comments: 95
Kudos: 455





	1. Chapter 1

_“I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul.” ― Bram Stoker, Dracula_

There was a brief moment where Guillermo had thought himself to be an expert familiar. After a decade of service, it seemed natural to him that he had mastered the trade. Guillermo could keep the household running efficiently while navigating the mercurial moods of the resident vampires and still ensure that the property taxes were timely paid without skipping a beat. And with increasing regularity, Guillermo had personally saved Nandor and the others from death itself. If any familiar had the right to be called an expert, Guillermo reasoned, it was him.

Not that Guillermo really knew many other familiars. He never really made a habit of socializing with them. He never really seemed to fit in. Actually, Guillermo never really fit in with anyone, but it was a terribly abrupt feeling to realize that even among his fellow familiars, they all had nothing in common. Like when he would miss a step walking down the stairs and it’s as if the world rushed up to meet him. It had been distinctly unsettling.

And it wasn’t as if Guillermo didn’t try to get along with them. They just had nothing in common. A lot of familiars were on drugs. Others were so openly resentful of their vampiric masters that Guillermo couldn’t believe any self-respecting vampire would put up with it. But he supposed most vampires never really paid attention to humans outside their availability as a ready food source. And familiars garnered even less attention than regular humans. Although when they did get some attention from vampires, that attention was invariably negative and quite often fatal. So on reflection, Guillermo supposed the resentful familiars weren’t going to last long, and it was a relief that he wouldn’t have to deal with too many of them.

But those types of familiars, as distasteful as Guillermo found them, were manageable to deal with. No, the familiars that Guillermo could not stand, the ones that really set his teeth on edge, were those familiars who got a little _too familiar_. Or tried to, anyway. Guillermo had never met a familiar who seemed able to pull it off. But Guillermo had met an alarming number of familiars who seemed very keen on living out a sort of bride of Dracula fantasy, and the thought of it turned his stomach. It was a pathetic and delusional thing, to chase after the idea that any vampire would have so little self-respect that they would—well, _do anything_ with a familiar. It just wasn’t done.

So Guillermo really didn’t pay much mind to what other familiars got up to. He just wasn’t interested.

And then, predictably, Laszlo ruined everything. Laszlo had mentioned it offhand, flippant gossip that struck Guillermo like a slap to the face. Guillermo was cleaning while Laszlo and Nadja lounged. Nandor was off feeding somewhere. Guillermo never made a habit of listening to Laszlo and Nadja; their conversations were explicitly pornographic and bizarrely sentimental in a way that made Guillermo both uncomfortable and a little sad. But at the mention of a scandal he perked up. He always did like a bit of gossip.

“I do have a treat for you, my darling,” Laszlo drawled. “A real peach of a scandal. Top-shelf stuff.”

“Oh, Laszlo,” Nadja answered. There was a low, breathy quality to her voice that Guillermo always found exceptionally irritating. “Don’t keep me waiting. What is it?”

“Word around the watering hole has it that Laurence the Lustful has taken up with that ripe little familiar of his.”

 _Bullshit_ , Guillermo thought. He felt his face heat up. He tried to focus on his dusting.

“No!” Nadja shrieked with delight. “You are pulling my legs!”

“As much as I love pulling and parting your silky-smooth legs, I am assuredly _not_ doing so in this instant,” Laszlo said. “I’ve had it from a reliable source that Laurence and his familiar were caught _in flagrante delicto_ at some club or another. Apparently they’ve been an item for quite some time.”

Nadja barked out a laugh. “How absolutely revolting! But you know, he always did seem the type.”

“I agree, my darkest princess. He was never really invested in the bi-annual vampiric orgy.”

“I do understand the urge to sample a human from time to time,” Nadja said. “I do, really, but to be exclusive with a human, and worse, a _familiar_ —it is a feeble brain that wants such a thing.”

“There’s no propriety in it. As a gentlemen I would of course give the servants a good rodgering from time to time, just to keep them on their toes, so to speak.”

“Of course,” Nadja agreed.

“But there’s a real difference between _romancing_ a servant and _fucking_ one. And what is a familiar if not a perpetual servant? No, my dear, it just doesn’t seem the appropriate thing to shack up with a familiar. Call me old-fashioned, but that’s just the way it is.”

“I agree with you, my darling, I really do.” Nadja shifted on the chaise longue. “Do you remember that boy, in the eighteen-eighties?”

“I remember a lot of boys in the eighteen-eighties,” Laszlo said, grinning.

Nadja laughed loudly. “Not one of yours, darling,” she said. “The one who lived here. Nandor’s familiar.”

“Oh, _him_.” Laszlo waived his hand dismissively. “Yes, I quite remember him. That’s exactly the sort of thing I was talking about. That whole affair just didn’t sit right with me. Honestly I don’t know what Nandor was thinking.”

“I know what he was thinking,” Nadja said. Her dark eyes flashed.

There was a sort of buzzing in Guillermo’s ears. He felt the duster slip from his fingers and clatter noisily on the floor.

Nadja and Laszlo whipped around to gape at him. “How long have you been standing there, eavesdropping on our private conversation?” she demanded. “Such cheek you have! You terrible cheeky boy!”

“Really, Gizmo, you’re being very rude,” Laszlo said.

“I’m sorry,” Guillermo said, “but please, can you just—can I just ask, what are you talking about, exactly?” There was a panicked edge in his voice that he could not control. “What happened with Nandor’s old familiar?”

“He died, of course,” Laszlo said. He rolled his eyes. “Honestly, what you don’t know could fill a very long and very ridiculous book.”

“I know he died—”

“You cannot know such a thing,” Nadja interrupted. “You were not there.”

“No, you weren’t there, I’d have remembered that.” Laszlo turned his attention back to Nadja. “Now that you’ve brought it up, I do recall it was a rather scandalous affair.”

“Please,” Guillermo said, his voice nearly cracking, “please tell me what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, darling, let me tell him,” Nadja purred.

Laszlo smiled fondly at his wife. “You know I cannot refuse you anything. Go ahead, my dear.”

From the chaise longue Nadja sat up straighter, turning her full attention to Guillermo. For Nadja to give Guillermo any manner of true focus devoid of open hostility was such a rare thing that it gave the encounter a distinctly unreal quality. With the fire crackling behind her and the dim lighting of the room, there was almost a dreamlike feel.

“For a brief time in the eighteen-eighties there was a boy here called John.” Her eyes glittered, dark and beetle-like. “He was small and quiet, and when I touched his face, he would look away.” Suddenly she reached forward, her cold hand stroking Guillermo’s cheek. Guillermo turned his face as if he’d been burned, swallowing hard. Dimly, he was aware of Laszlo laughing.

“Like that,” Nadja said. Her voice was very soft. “I always liked that.” She pulled her hand back. “John was a pathetic boy. Laszlo and I thought Nandor had brought him back to be eaten. He was so timid, and his smell was so virginal. _Truly_ virginal, I mean.”

“There’s different kinds of…of virginal?”

“Oh, yes,” Laszlo interrupted. “John’s virginity clung to him like a marital shroud. There was a heated sort of self-repression there that would absolutely permeate a room.” He shifted a bit in his chair. “I’m a little hard just thinking about it.”

“He would have tasted _sublime_ ,” Nadja breathed. “They don’t make virgins like that anymore.”

“But we never got a taste,” Laszlo said. “Nandor got there first, the prick.”

Guillermo felt his hands clench.

“Laszlo, please,” Nadja said. “I’m telling the story.” She fixed her gaze on Guillermo. “As I was saying, John lived here as Nandor’s familiar, and his delicious virginity infested the house. You simply could not escape the smell of it. Until one day, when Laszlo and I awoke and the smell was just—,” and here she lifted her hands, as if invisible tendrils of smoke were wafting away, “ _gone_.”

“Gone?”

“Completely gone. So of course we thought, well, there goes poor little John. Off to meet his maker. Time to find a new familiar.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “But then we saw John that very same night, and we could smell Nandor all over him. And so the cat was out of the bag.”

Guillermo felt very hot. “What happened then?”

“Oh, it was terrible,” Nadja said. “We were finding them together all over the house. And Nandor was like a big selfish baby refusing to share his favorite chicken bone, he would not even give us a single taste of the boy.”

“There was a great deal of sexual frustration in the house, I can tell you that,” Laszlo added.

“Yes. And it went on and on for years.”

“What happened to John?”

“I told you already, he died. We were there,” Nadja said.

Laszlo sighed. “Nandor didn’t take it well at all, poor chap.”

“How could he?” Nadja said. “It was his fault.”

“What do you mean?” Guillermo asked.

“I mean that Nandor killed him,” Nadja said. “Snapped his neck. But what do you expect, galivanting around with humans? They can never keep up with vampires.”

“The whole affair turned old Nandor off of sex for at least, what was it, fifty years? Sixty?”

“At least sixty,” Nadja answered. “And he hasn’t taken another human to bed at all.”

The front door slammed open and shut with a tremendous thud. Guillermo jumped. _Nandor_.

“Right, this conversation has gone on long enough,” Laszlo said quickly, eyeing the hallway. “Gizmo, bugger off if you know what’s good for you.”

Guillermo didn’t need to be told twice. He scurried off back to his room as fast as his legs could carry him. He couldn’t face running into Nandor. Not now, not while Nadja’s sultry voice was still ringing in his ears. _We could smell Nandor all over him_.

Guillermo threw back the curtain to his room and collapsed into his bed, groaning. This sort of thing was absolutely none of his business. It didn’t matter who Nandor brought to bed. Brought to coffin, rather. _But he rarely brings anyone to bed_ , Guillermo thought, in spite of himself. _And they never stay_. In the ten years that Guillermo had served his Master, Guillermo had witnessed a handful of Nandor’s truly abysmal attempts at seduction, and he could count on one hand the number of times that Nandor was ever able to convince a vampire to spend the night. Guillermo was invariably the one to clean it all up, so it’s not as if Nandor was in any way discreet. But Guillermo had never seen any of Nandor’s vampiric conquests make a reappearance at the house.

 _Maybe_ , said a nasty little voice in Guillermo’s head, _it’s not vampires that do it for him_.

“Oh fuck me,” Guillermo hissed. He pressed his fists, white-knuckled, into the sockets of his eyes, focusing on the pressure there to distract him from the throbbing between his legs. So what if Nandor fucked humans occasionally? If he preferred it, even? It was none of Guillermo’s business, and it’s not as if Guillermo was anything approaching Nandor’s type.

Not that it mattered if Nandor had a type.

“God damn it,” he groaned. Guillermo was resolutely determined that he would never be one of those familiars mooning after some unobtainable vampire. It was a self-destructive lust that catapulted past masochistic yearning into the realm of suicidal infatuation. Vampires were dangerous. Vampiric strength was alluring of course, and Guillermo wanted it for himself, but to be subjected to it—to think of what happened to John—

To be at the mercy of that brutal strength did not bear thinking about. To have a vampire’s large, cold hands gripping you, knowing that the barest flex of those fingers could pierce the thin membrane of skin and bury themselves inside the meat of you, and you would be helpless to stop it, and the wet crunch of bone and skin colliding would ring in your ears—

Guillermo felt his cock pulse. He didn’t know if he wanted to throw up or rut against the sheets.

 _Don’t think about it_. Guillermo gritted his teeth and finally took himself in hand. _Don’t think about it_. He stroked himself quickly, as a means to an end. His eyes were screwed shut. He thought of large pale hands and dark hair, of hot blood streaming out of his neck and down the long white column of a powerful throat, and when he came it wrenched from him like a pale nameless creature leaving a cave for the first time in some hazy primordial world. There was a horrible trepidation, like he’d passed a threshold without knowing it. Like someone walking on his grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing this for the comments.


	2. Chapter 2

Guillermo spent the next few days in a state of sexual desperation so intense that Colin Robinson had given him a twenty-dollar gift card to Baskin Robbins to show his appreciation. It did nothing to alleviate Guillermo’s frustration, but it was nice to get out of the house.

If the other vampires noticed that Guillermo was operating in a far more distracted state than usual, none of them gave any indication of it. Laszlo and Nadja continued giving Guillermo the casual indifference to which he was accustomed. Nandor ordered him around in his usual brusque and thankless manner. And if Guillermo caught the odd glance from his Master out of the corner of his eye, if was surely nothing more than Guillermo’s imagination. It was as normal as it had ever been in the vampiric household, but Guillermo could not for the life of him shake the feeling that something was terribly, horribly off.

It did not help that he wasn’t sleeping well. Guillermo was plagued with terrible dreams. He dreamed of Nandor and a vague, faceless young man, a phantom ex-familiar that Guillermo conjured into existence as if to personally torment him. Guillermo dreamed of Nandor fucking the man so violently that his neck snapped. Guillermo dreamed of Nandor’s face, flushed and wild with exertion, thrusting into the soft human body beneath him while the man’s life drained away. Guillermo dreamed that Nandor dropped the lifeless body to the ground, and in his dream Guillermo saw that the body was his own. And in Guillermo’s dream, Nandor stepped over the dead doppelganger to grasp the shoulder of the living, breathing Guillermo. Even in his dream, the grip on Guillermo’s shoulder was impossibly tight. “Get rid of him, Guillermo. But first you need to clean me up.” And Guillermo could see himself reflected in the dead eyes of his twin. And when he woke, he was achingly, desperately hard.

Plagued by dreams, Guillermo would wake to find his sheets a sticky mess like some pathetic teenager. Worse still was when Guillermo awoke to an aching hardness, and he’d have to finish himself off. He thought of the way Nandor would be repulsed by him, the dark revulsion in his eyes at the sight of his familiar red-faced and rutting against the bed. Guillermo could picture it so clearly that it scared him, as if Nandor had somehow psychically projected his disappointment into the room. Guillermo felt his hand convulse at the thought, a spasm of hot shame washing over him. When Guillermo’s release came, it could not really be called an orgasm. There was no pleasure in it.

Life continued as a sort of waking nightmare for the better part of a week, until, predictably, Laszlo interfered. It was one of their standard house meetings in the fancy room. Guillermo knew that conducting these meetings was Nandor’s favorite household tradition, as they allowed Nandor the only semblance of authority over the other vampires that he’d had in many hundreds of years. Laszlo and Nadja were seated together on the chaise longue, while Nandor stood at the center of the room conveying an air of general superiority that would invariably cause some sort of argument with Nadja. Colin Robinson was not present, but if and when an argument broke out, Guillermo expected that he would appear. Guillermo, as usual, was stationed by the door in an attempt to keep Colin Robinson away. Nobody had any real belief that this attempt would be at all successful.

“We have now moved on to new business,” Nandor announced. “If anyone has any new business, now is the time.”

Nadja raised one perfectly manicured hand into the air. “I have new business,” she said. “There is an incubus in the house.”

Laszlo chuckled gently and patted Nadja’s leg. She turned her head quickly towards him, eyes flashing. “This is funny to you? It is funny that an incubus is terrorizing this house?”

“There is no such thing as an incubus, my sweet.”

“Of course there is such a thing,” Nadja hissed. “How else do you explain this…this… _miasma_ in the air?” She gestured wildly in frustration. “I know you can sense it.”

“Oh, that. That’s not an incubus, my dear. That’s from Gizmo.”

At once, three pairs of undead eyes were trained on Guillermo. He flushed under the scrutiny.

“Is this true?” Nadja demanded from him. Laszlo answered before Guillermo could open his mouth. “Of course it’s bloody well true, can’t you smell it on him? The sexual frustration oozing out of Gizmo could power an entire street of brothels.”

“I think you may be right,” Nadja said.

“Naturally. Now, Gizmo,” Laszlo drawled, “you may be watching too many pornos. I understand the allure, but I must recommend moderation.”

“I’m not watching any pornos,” Guillermo stammered. His eyes flickered towards Nandor, who was staring at him with a very peculiar look on his face.

“Well in that case, maybe you’re not watching _enough_ pornos. I recommend you go off to the local pornographers and settle in for a nice relaxing wank. Get it out of your system in one shot.”

Colin Robinson chose that moment to make his appearance. “What’s the hubbub?” he asked, strolling into the room with a wide smile. His eyes flashed an electric blue. “There’s a lot of negative energy in here.”

“It’s Gizmo,” Nadja offered. “His humors are misaligned and he needs to drain himself of semen at the local pornographers.” She turned her gaze to Guillermo. “And he _absolutely will_. I cannot abide so much sexual frustration any longer, it is giving me a rash.”

“Go on, Nandor, tell him to get a move on,” Laszlo said. Nandor finally turned his gaze away from Guillermo and towards the other vampires. There was a brief look in his eyes as if he’d forgotten they were there. But at Laszlo’s attempt to order him around, Nandor seemed to regain his usual vigor.

“Guillermo is not your familiar and he will not be ordered about by the likes of you,” Nandor bristled. “Guillermo is my familiar, and I will deal with him, so please, leave us.” Nandor exhaled loudly. “And I do not appreciate it when you feed on us so openly, Colin Robinson. It is very rude.”

Colin smiled. “No offense taken. Later skaters.” He wandered out as jovially as he’d arrived. Laszlo and Nadja stalked off behind him, clearly annoyed at having to miss what they were sure would be a very entertaining conversation. With a resounding thud, the door was closed, and Guillermo founds himself alone with his Master.

With a sigh, Nandor plopped down on a particularly brittle couch. It wobbled slightly beneath the weight of him. “Come sit with me, Guillermo,” Nandor said. Guillermo watched Nandor’s large, pale hand as it patted the seat of the couch in invitation. Guillermo swallowed thickly. He walked over to the couch and sat, mindful of the lack of space between them.

“Nadja believes there is a problem with your humors. Perhaps too much yellow bile, not enough phlegm?”

“That’s not…I don’t think it’s my humors, Master.”

Nandor huffed. “Well it’s obviously something. Nadja is right, there is a miasma in this house. It reeks of desperation. I find it very distracting.”

 _Distracting_ , his mind supplied, _is not the same as distasteful_. Guillermo willed the thought down.

“I’m sorry, Master. I’m really trying.” He swallowed hard and his eyes prickled hotly, as if he might cry. The thought of crying in front of Nandor was so immediately and profoundly upsetting that Guillermo physically shuddered. _This cannot be happening_.

In what was clearly supposed to be a gesture of camaraderie, Nandor reached out and grasped him by the shoulder. At the sensation of Nandor’s hand on him and the weight of his palm, Guillermo bodily jerked away, and Nandor pulled his hand back so quickly that Guillermo was almost convinced Nandor had never touched him at all. Guillermo would have thought so, if he had not seen the confusion so plainly on Nandor’s face.

“I have never seen you like this, Guillermo,” Nandor said, his voice very soft. “I do not care for it. You must tell me what is upsetting you. I will take care of it, and everything will be as it was.”

Guillermo was very tired. And he had never been able to resist Nandor’s requests at the best of times. “It was Laszlo and Nadja,” he finally said. “They told me what happened to one of your old familiars.” Guillermo would not meet his eye. “They told me about John.”

He heard Nandor breathing quietly. It was one of the strangest things about vampiric physiology, the breathing. Nandor had told him once that it was just muscle memory. You breathe so often for so long that even when you’re dead the habit is still there. If he was close enough, could he feel the puff of air? Or was it an empty breath, devoid of sensation? Guillermo wanted to know. His hands ached to grasp Nandor by the face, to kiss him and feel his breath. He wrung his hands together uselessly in his lap.

“What did they tell you about John?” Nandor asked. His eyes were very dark, and Guillermo could not look away.

“They said that you took him to bed.”

Nandor’s eyebrows furrowed. “I did not have a bed, I had a coffin.”

“I know,” Guillermo murmured. “That’s not what I meant. They said that you—that you fucked John, that he was your familiar and you fucked him, and that one time you killed him.”

“You can only kill someone one time,” Nandor said quietly. Guillermo did not know if it was an attempt at levity or if Nandor was genuinely making an observation. “So you are worried that because I killed a familiar before, I will do so again? That will not happen, Guillermo. I have always been very careful with you.”

 _Agree with him_ , his brain was screaming. _Agree with him and pretend this never happened_. But there was a terrible, traitorous urge in him to excise his true deformity, this pointless lust inside him, to cut it out and offer it to Nandor to be crushed and burned and thrown away. Like a tumor. Cut it out and be done with it. Nandor would reject Guillermo and it might kill him, but it was the only way to move past this.

“I’m not upset that you _killed_ your familiar.” Nandor was looking at him in that peculiar way again. Guillermo pressed on. “I’m upset that I didn’t know that you liked to _fuck_ your familiars.”

Nandor’s eyes were very dark. Something in his face had shifted. “Who says I like to fuck my familiars?”

“Well?” Guillermo asked. “Do you?”

“Oh, yes,” Nandor murmured. Guillermo’s stuttered in his chest. “I do. It is not looked upon very kindly among vampires, so I don’t like to talk about it.”

Guillermo did not stop to think. He was acting impulsively in a way he had not done since he was a very small child, before fear and anxiety rendered him inactive, a romantic and social bystander to the life around him. But this was too important. He felt compelled, as if pulled by a current into the sea. He could not have stopped himself even if he wanted to.

“You could talk to me about it.”

“What do you want to hear?”

“Everything.”

“I do not think you understand what you’re asking for,” Nandor said gently. He was sitting very close to Guillermo. “You would not think well of me.”

“I want to know. Please, Master.”

Nandor shut his eyes very briefly. When he opened them again Guillermo was struck by the otherworldliness of his eyes. Sometimes Guillermo thought that Nandor couldn’t be all that bad at hypnosis. Who could possibly resist him?

“I don’t know if it was all the pillaging,” Nandor said, his voice slow and careful, as if he were choosing his words with clinical precision. “Maybe it was something in my blood. But I’ve always enjoyed… _conquering_ , I think is the word. Taking what I want. Whether it was on the battlefield or otherwise.”

Guillermo stared at him. The fact that they were having this conversation at all was nothing short of a miracle, or, perhaps more likely, the work of some infernal entity. Guillermo was loathe to break the spell.

Nandor continued, “You can never really _conquer_ another vampire. We are all too evenly matched. Defeating another vampire is generally a matter of outnumbering your opponents, with very few exceptions. I speak of course of the truly ancient vampires, such as the Baron. But who would want _him_?” Nandor made a sour face. “Well, except for Laszlo and Nadja, but they’re a couple of perverts.”

 _Like you’re not_. Guillermo just nodded. He knew he’d say something stupid if he spoke at all. Unfortunately, it seemed that Nandor expected this to be a two-way conversation.

“You are very quiet, sitting there.” Nandor narrowed his eyes. “You find this all very shocking?”

 _Yes_. “No, Master, of course not.” Guillermo shifted slightly in an effort to maintain some semblance of personal space, to no avail. “I just don’t really understand what you’re saying, exactly.”

“I suppose I have not made myself very clear,” Nandor conceded. “When I speak of conquering, I am speaking of overpowering. I have what you might call a monstrous appetite.” He leaned forward, and when he smiled, Guillermo could see all his teeth. What I like is to overpower, and to take, and most of all to keep. You have no idea what it’s like, Guillermo. No idea. To find a familiar and spirit it away, to keep it with you, to feed from it and fuck it and bend it to your will—you feel a power beyond compare. I never feel more like a vampire than when I’m fucking my familiar.”

Guillermo felt as if he was drowning. Desperately, he flung out the first coherent remark he could conjure. “So that was John,” he asked, his voice nearly cracking. “John was like that?”

“He was. You’d have liked him, he was very tidy.” Nando’s lip curled over the sharp line of his incisor. “And he was so timid. Like a little mouse. He would cry every time I fed from him. He made these small little wheezing noises, like when a man’s lung is pierced by a bone and he is dying on the battlefield. But John’s noise was much more pleasant.”

“I’m not familiar with that sound.”

“No, I suppose not.”

They sat in silence for a moment. “Laszlo and Nadja mentioned how John died.” There was no way to make it sound casual, so Guillermo didn’t bother trying. But he felt like it was something that needed to be said.

A dark look passed over Nandor’s face. “I was not as careful in those days. I was not as domestic then as I am now.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault, Master.”

“Thank you, Guillermo, but I’m afraid it was. I was the one who turned him in the first place, so of course I take full responsibility for the consequences.”

Guillermo blinked very rapidly. “Turned? You _turned_ him?”

A look of confusion passed over Nandor’s face. “I thought Laszlo and Nadja had told you everything?”

“They said you snapped John’s neck. They made it sound like some kind of accident in the bedroom.”

Nandor waived his hand dismissively, nearly smacking Guillermo in the face. “That is a ridiculous notion. As if I could not control myself. I haven’t accidentally killed anyone I’ve fucked since at least the seventeen-fifties.”

Guillermo pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and forced back all the associated images that Nandor’s passing remark has summoned. “Alright, but what happened to John?”

There was a distinctly guilty look in Nandor’s eyes. “John never wanted to be a vampire. He was very much looking forward to a boring afterlife with his human family. I turned him unwillingly, so that he could never—well, it doesn’t matter now. But he would not touch human blood. And he begged me so terribly to put him out of his misery, I had no choice in the matter. I snapped his neck myself. And I may have led Laszlo and Nadja to believe his death was the result of something a little more amorous, if only for my own dignity. Really, it was all very embarrassing and very sad and I do not like to think of it.”

Guillermo was anxious to keep the path of their conversation steered towards what he silently hoped would be a more mutually satisfactory end, and not to allow Nandor to derail this very rare _tête-à-tête_ into a ravine of self-loathing. Guillermo had never considered himself to be a gifted conversationalist, but he had recently acquired the valuable skill of directing Nandor’s sporadic thought process in a more precise fashion. He tried to put that skill to use now.

“Was John the only familiar who was so…special to you?”

Nandor huffed dismissively. “Of course not. As if I could ever be satisfied with one little familiar. I am a very virile vampire, Guillermo. Don’t you remember when those witches stole my semen?”

“I try not to.”

“Well, they did.”

“I know, Master.”

“So of course John was not the first. In the fourteen-hundreds I had many familiars that I also took as my bed slaves, as I did when I ruled Al Quolanudar.”

 _Bed slaves_. Guillermo’s stomach flipped wildly. Nandor continued, seemingly oblivious to the effect his words were having. “But keeping track of dozens of familiars is very tiresome. When I left for Europe on one of those delightful little plague ships, I left all but one behind. And in a way, it was much nicer. I found it very pleasurable to focus my attention on one familiar.” Nandor smiled. There was a hungry look to him that rooted Guillermo to the chair. “You would have found me to be a real glutton in those days, Guillermo. All I did was eat and fuck. I was not an easy master then, not like I am now.”

“No, not like now,” Guillermo breathed. “What changed?”

Nandor shrugged, an easy roll of his broad shoulders. “Life, you know? My familiars died, and when the next one came I always thought, ‘Oh, this will be better, like the good old days,’ but they never wanted to stick around for more than a few decades. Humans just seemed to get more ungrateful. And at some point all of that wonderful tasty _repression_ just kind of floated away. John was a relic from a bygone age in that regard. It was just so difficult to find someone with the right flavor of self-denial after humans invented the daguerreotype. I really think that was the turning point.” He frowned, contemplative. “And you know, people were very rude to me after that war. The big one with the holes in the ground and the shouting. People did not seem to appreciate the way that I would speak. And everyone was so suspicious. It was difficult to really connect with a human at that time.”

“So you gave up? On finding another familiar like before?”

“I did not _give up_ ,” Nandor hissed. “I am _relentless_. I am _Nandor the Relentless_. Refusing to relent is what I do.” Nandor huffed. “I have just taken a little break. It is not the same as relenting.” Something like recognition flitted across Nandor’s face. “Why do you care, anyway?”

“I just—”

“You would be out of a job,” Nandor interjected. “There’s not enough work in this house for two familiars.”

“I wouldn’t have to be out of a job,” Guillermo said. There was desperation in his voice that he could not suppress. But there was anger, too. It bubbled out of him like a foaming sea, rolling and furious. How could Nandor be so _stupid_. So _blind_. Guillermo had served him loyally for a decade, a full decade of his infinitesimally short human life. No, more than served. No servant would do the things Guillermo did. Beyond the cleaning and washing and small domestic duties that would have been the sphere, a generation ago, of Nandor’s _wife_ —and that’s a thread of thought Guillermo was desperate to rip out—Guillermo had, in the service of Nandor, fundamentally altered his moral code. His entire philosophical outlook on the value of human life had been deflated, drained away and replaced with the desire to do good for his Master. So to think that some new duty in the never-ending list of a familiar’s tasks could spell the end of Guillermo’s career was so innately infuriating that Guillermo could scream. As if Guillermo would leave a task so intimate to anyone but himself.

Nandor was looking at him. Really looking at him. Guillermo didn’t quite know what to make of it. In his peripheral, Guillermo saw that Nandor was flexing one of his hands. Guillermo watched the tendons roll beneath the fine pale stretch of his skin. As if Nandor wanted to grasp something but was trying very hard not to.

 _It’s predatory_ , his mind supplied. _He looks like a predator, you ridiculous idiot_.

“What is it you are saying?” Nandor asked. There was a deep timbre to his voice that seemed to thrum in Guillermo’s head. Guillermo felt as if he were on the precipice of something tremendous. His heart was beating wildly in his chest, a horrible thumping sound that he knew Nandor could hear with aching clarity. _He knows_. “Do I have to say it?”

“Yes. I do not want to be mistaken in this.” Nandor pulled himself straighter, his spine as rigid as a guillotine. “I command you, Guillermo. Tell me.”

 _If this doesn’t work, I’ve wasted everything_. Like tripping at the finish line and breaking his leg. Ten years of work, all for nothing. _Be very careful_. Would this be worth it? Guillermo was already so ingrained in Nandor’s life—or unlife, rather—but to walk this path would mean to tie himself inextricably to Nandor. A gordian knot, unable to be severed without an abrupt and violent end. It would be a shade of servitude distinctly more insidious than the sort to which Guillermo was accustomed. 

And what did Guillermo want, deep down in the pit of his heart? _To be a vampire_ , he thought. _And this could be quicker_. Indeed, from what Nandor was saying, this could be a speedier path to his turning, if Guillermo played his cards right. If he was able to be truly pleasing to Nandor. If he was so pleasing that Nandor couldn’t imagine an unlife without Guillermo beside him. If he wanted Guillermo with him forever.

Alarm bells were not going off in Guillermo’s head so much as nuclear fallout warnings were blaring. _Wait a minute_. The only conceivable reason for Nandor to turn a familiar who served him in that _particular fashion_ —even in his head Guillermo could not really put words to it, it was far too explicit—would be if Nandor wanted him to keep it up. To stay the course. That is, to continue their relationship for decades—centuries, even. Guillermo could not grin and bear it for a few years with the expectation that the end was in sight. This would be permanent.

Did he want that?

And what was _that_ , exactly? What would Nandor be expecting him to actually do? Christ, what if Guillermo went along with it but Nandor found him to be a disappointment. How could Guillermo possibly bear it?

“Guillermo, I gave you an order,” Nandor said, dragging Guillermo quickly out of his thoughts. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” Guillermo answered thoughtlessly. “I want to be that sort of familiar for you. You could feed from me, and f-fuck me, whenever you wanted.” He glanced down at his lap, his face burning. “If you wanted to, I mean. No pressure.”

In that moment, Guillermo experienced three very peculiar sensations in rapid succession. The first: an immediate and heavy weight against the hollow of his throat, followed by the needle-sharp sinking of teeth, as if a very large and wickedly fanged boulder had been hurled against his neck. The second: the rush of blood pouring out of his presumably mangled throat into a bearded and eager mouth, and the predictable lightheadedness that came from losing such a high volume of blood so quickly. And the third: the feeling of a cock pressed hot and thick against Guillermo’s thigh.

It was right around the time that Guillermo realized Nandor was responsible for all three sensations that Guillermo blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The main event is in part III, which I'm working on presently. In the meantime, I'd appreciate any comments. I just really want to talk about these two, they're so perfect for each other it's ridiculous.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. They finally Do The Dew. We're in the splash zone, people.

A car backfired, and Guillermo was awake. He rolled over in his bed, grumbling. His head was pounding, the ache of dehydration in his throat. Without opening his eyes, he reached up to scratch his nose and started a bit when he realized he was already wearing his glasses. He never slept in his glasses. Did he forget to take them off last night? But why—

 _Oh_.

Realization struck him like a slap. He’d almost forgotten. Nandor must have brought him back here after last night, after Guillermo had, well…

 _Fainted_ , his mind supplied. _Like a girl_.

It was fitting, Guillermo supposed, that his first sexual encounter with Nandor—with anyone, actually—should end in the most embarrassing manner possible. At least he didn’t throw up. Oh fuck, did he throw up? He could barely remember. And his head was _killing_ him.

He glanced at his phone: 10:45 a.m. Still plenty of time to get his chores done, so that was a blessing. Grimacing, Guillermo thought of the mess they must have made in the fancy room. He was sure he’d lost a great deal of blood. Guillermo touched his neck very lightly, surprised to find that it seemed to all be in one piece. His neck was sore, of course, but still faithfully connected to his head. In the moment it had felt as though his entire throat had been reduced to a raw and bloody pulp.

Nandor had never really drained him before. There were a handful of times over the preceding decade where Nandor had been forced into feeding off of Guillermo, usually due to extremely inclement weather precluding any chance for Nandor to go out and successfully hunt. Initially, Nandor’s reluctance to drink Guillermo’s blood had been flattering; Guillermo had liked to think that Nandor was worried that he might feed a little too much, rendering Guillermo useless and Nandor without the help he so obviously needed. But as Guillermo grew more comfortable in his role as a familiar, and subsequently more aware of what was generally expected of other familiars in similar circumstances, Guillermo became increasingly concerned that Nandor did not feed on him for the simple reason that Nandor found Guillermo unappetizing.

Other familiars had spoken to Guillermo of their general annoyance at being expected to bend their necks and smile while their masters drank their fill. _“What about your Nandor, Guillermo?”_ they would ask. _“He’s very big. I’m sure he’s insatiable.”_ And Guillermo would struggle to explain why he did not possess the seemingly permanent lesion on his throat that was such a common mark of the trade. He could never come up with a good reason.

When Guillermo had begun his service, he had entertained the most embarrassing and furtive fantasies about being Nandor’s familiar. He’d imagined midnight feedings, a terrible lewd suckling against his throat and an iron grip at his waist. The reality that Nandor had no desire for his blood and, worse, a seeming revulsion towards physically touching Guillermo in any capacity—it had taken Guillermo a great deal of time to overcome his infatuation with Nandor after that. Or at least, he thought he had overcome it. He pretended to, at any rate.

And when Nandor did feed on Guillermo, it was always awkward. The thought of it filled Guillermo with dread. Nandor would have Guillermo stand motionless in his room while he pierced Guillermo quickly with his fangs and milked the blood from the incision with his hands, as if he were draining a snake of its venom. He’d collect the barest amount of blood in a small glass and drink it like an after-dinner port. Something to hold him over. It always left Guillermo with a burning humiliation, to stand in the corner like an idiot while Nandor downed his blood in such a passionless, medicinal fashion. Guillermo would try not to watch him, but his eyes would be drawn invariably towards the long line of Nandor’s neck, the muscles in his throat rolling obscenely as he forced Guillermo’s vital fluid down. And then Nandor would ignore him for the rest of the night. Sometimes for weeks. Nandor must find his blood to be particularly foul.

 _But what about last night?_ Nandor had latched onto Guillermo’s neck like one of those shipwrecked sailors who had to drain the blood of a seabird for survival. Like he was dying without it.

 _There’s an easy explanation_ _for that_ , he thought dully. _You were offering it so easily, how could he resist? Even Nandor won’t turn down a free meal._ Guillermo pushed the thought aside. Even if Nandor hated the taste of him, it did not matter; Guillermo was still going to be a more intimate sort of familiar for Nandor than he ever could have hoped to be, and his unappetizing blood would not change anything.

Guillermo made his way to the bathroom, curious to see the state of his neck. Given Nandor’s pattern of feeding habits, Guillermo did not anticipate that Nandor would be draining him with any sort of regularity, so Guillermo was eager to see how a proper penny dreadful draining would appear.

Guillermo looked in the mirror.

Then he looked again.

Then he started counting.

Eight. Eight sets of bite marks.

Twelve, if you counted the marks near his clavicle.

He had expected a single set of fang indentations and perhaps a bruise. That seemed to be the typical thing when it came to familiar feedings. One-and-done penetration of the canines and a deep, full drink of blood. Minor bruising, if the vampire doing the feeding was feeling particularly eager. This wasn’t just second-hand knowledge, of course; Guillermo had seen the tell-tale fang marks on the necks of many familiars. He’d traced them greedily with his eyes, seared them into the flat corners of his brain to drudge up in particular moments of self-loathing. _Look upon their works, Guillermo, and despair._

He titled his head to get a better look at himself. Christ, his neck was _mangled_. Incisor marks spread across his throat like a noose. They dusted his clavicle, vivid and angry against his skin. And circling the marks were the largest bruises Guillermo had ever seen, pearlescent membranes ringing against him in unending loops. Mottled purple and blue, they colored his throat like an impressionist painting. It looked as if Guillermo had been descended upon by a pack of dogs—not, not dogs. Wolves, maybe. Something more brutal. Something larger.

Guillermo peered in for a closer look. He had never felt so obscene, and it thrilled him. He touched one of the marks near the hollow of his throat and hissed with pain. The wounds seemed very deep, as if Nandor had pushed his teeth as deep into the meat of his neck as possible. But they were not leaking. In fact, Guillermo realized with a start, there was no blood on his shirt at all. Surely, with wounds of this quantity his clothing should have been ruined. But there was nothing.

_It’s like you were licked clean._

Lightheaded, Guillermo sat down. It was going to be a very long wait to nightfall.

* * *

When nightfall arrived, Guillermo was waiting beside Nandor’s coffin in a state of general agitation. He’d been standing outside it for the better part of an hour. He’d drank enough Gatorade to drown a junior football league, so he had his dehydration under control. And it had been surprisingly easy to clean up the fancy room; there was so little blood on the couch that a mosquito would have called it a tease. Like Guillermo’s shirt, the couch also seemed to have been licked clean.

 _Or maybe there wasn’t a lot of blood_ , Guillermo thought with a hint of desperation. The idea that Nandor’s tongue had done anything even approximating _licking_ was enough to leave Guillermo half-mad with longing. The thought of facing Nandor at all after last night was agonizing enough as it was. Guillermo still wasn’t sure what Nandor really wanted from him. It was clear that Nandor valued a sort of servitude that was a shade closer to sexual slavery than Guillermo had initially dared to dream, but that sort of thing was, happily—or unhappily, for his general moral standing—right up Guillermo’s alley. But was Guillermo simply a convenient outlet for Nandor? Was Nandor going to toss him aside when a more appetizing prospect stumbled along? Would Guillermo be able to get some kind of work reference after all of this? His mind was racing with a never-ending stream of concerns, each more alarming than the last.

And the worst thought of all: _What if Nandor wants to stop?_

“Guillermo, are you there?” Nandor’s voice was muffled inside the coffin, but to Guillermo it was as clear as a thunderclap. Guillermo flinched. “I’m here, Master.”

“Oh, good. I had thought…well, never mind. Open up my coffin, please.”

Guillermo lifted the lid with trembling arms. At the sight of Nandor rising from the coffin, fear trickled down his spine, through his guts and bones. _I’ve disappointed him. He thought I left. He was_ hoping _I left—_

And then Nandor did something unexpected.

Nandor smiled at him. A sort of half-curl of the lip that was both conspiratorial and slightly self-depreciating. The kind of smile that spoke of a shared secret remembered fondly but with some embarrassment. It was a little, well…

 _Cute_ , his mind supplied. It was pure Nandor. Guillermo could forget, sometimes. As much as Nandor was able to inspire the type of lust that only a tall, dark, deeply accented vampire could hope to spring forth in a man as dangerously subservient as Guillermo, Nandor was not and could never hope to be the endlessly cruel and emotionally deadened Count Dracula. There was too much of a bizarre tenderness to him. Guillermo struggled to make sense of it sometimes. It was a bit like reconciling the alligator mother carrying her hatchlings gently inside her powerful jaws with the reality of a merciless reptilian mouth shredding hapless fishermen limb from bloody limb. The existence of one did not snuff out the life of the other. Nandor was like that: monstrous in his appetites but painstakingly tender at the most inopportune moments. Man and his shadow at once, enjoined.

At Nandor’s smile, Guillermo felt an instant sense of being just slightly more at ease. He could deal with this.

“I would like us to discuss last night,” Nandor said, dropping into one of his ancient chairs.

“That’s—you don’t need to, Master,” Guillermo said very quickly, choosing a seat beside him.

“No, I am afraid I must. I behaved very badly, I think.”

Guillermo’s stomach dropped. “We can just ignore it, if you want” he croaked. He felt the bile rise in his throat. “We don’t have to be—I mean, _you_ don’t have to…you know.”

“Please, Guillermo, let me speak.” Nandor frowned at him. “That is an order.”

“Of course, Master,” Guillermo muttered.

“Thank you,” Nandor continued. “Now, I had thought that it was very flattering of you to lose consciousness so quickly. I am a great and powerful vampire, so it was natural that you found yourself so overwhelmed. But I spoke with Laszlo, and he seems to think that maybe I had left you a little…overstimulated, I think is the word?” He looked at Guillermo imploringly. Guillermo nodded, and he continued. “I knew you were a virgin, of course, but I did not fully appreciate how very _virginal_ you are.”

“Wait,” Guillermo said, ignoring the tingling in his stomach caused by Nandor’s remark. Nandor frowned at him, clearly annoyed at the interruption, but Guillermo pressed on. “Do Laszlo and Nadja know what, ah, _happened_?”

Nandor glanced away. There was a distinctly guilty look coloring his expression. “I may have taken a little more blood than I had originally intended. And I may have demanded their immediate assistance. You were very still.” He shifted a little in his seat. “After we put you back in your, ah, _bedroom_ , I enjoyed a very productive period of self-reflection. And I think I came to the solution to our problem.”

Guillermo swallowed thickly. “Which is what, exactly?”

“We need to practice. Both of us. For my part, I must practice the littlest bit more self-restraint.” Nandor’s eyes flicked quickly across the constellation of incisor marks ringing Guillermo’s neck. Guillermo flushed under the scrutiny. Even under his layers of clothes, Nandor had the uncanny ability to make Guillermo feel terribly exposed. “More than the littlest bit, maybe.”

“And what about me, Master?”

Nandor was still staring at his neck. “Hm?”

“You said ‘we.’ _We need to practice_. So what am I supposed to be practicing?”

“Oh, well, that’s simple,” Nandor answered. When he looked up at Guillermo, his eyes were very dark. “You need to practice enduring my attentions. As I said, I did enjoy the fainting, but if that were to be a regular occurrence, it would remove much of the joys from our arrangement. I like a bit of a struggle.”

Guillermo found it very difficult to believe that he would struggle against anything Nandor wanted to do to him, but he would not argue it. “That’s a very good idea, Master.”

Nandor beamed at him. He always shined under praise. “I’m glad you agree,” Nandor said. “We will start tonight. Sit down on my lap so that I may practice eating carefully.” He patted his lap in a precise manner, as if calling up a beloved family dog.

Guillermo was rooted to his chair, immobile. “But you don’t like my blood,” he stated very carefully. He tried to make his voice sound observational, but there was a hint of petulance in his tone that Guillermo could not shake. Even after all this time, knowing that Nandor preferred to feed on anyone but him was an unending source of envy.

Nandor cocked his head, confused. “Is this one of your jokes, Guillermo?”

“No, I’m not, I’m not _joking_. It’s just, you never wanted to…to do that, before, you know, all of this,” Guillermo explained quickly. He knew he was rambling. At Nandor’s look of continued confusion he pressed on. “You never seemed interested in my blood at any point in the last ten years, Master, not unless it was an absolute emergency, so why now?” Nandor was still looking at him as if Guillermo had suddenly started speaking in tongues. Guillermo exhaled loudly, frustration plain on his face. He’d have to be brutally honest, there was no way around it. “I don’t want you to drink my blood out of any sense of obligation,” Guillermo said. “Not if it’s going to turn you off. I know…I know how disgusting you find it.”

For a moment, Nandor was quiet. “If I had drank your blood as often and as deeply as I had wanted” he finally said, “you never would have stayed.”

 _Bullshit_ , he thought. Guillermo felt his face heating up. All of this agitation had been simmering in him for too long. He was spoiling for a fight. “Other familiars do it. Their masters feed from them all the time, and they don’t leave.”

“You want me to be like _other masters_?” Nandor asked coldly. There was something very imperial about Nandor when he spoke of other masters. Something regal. As if he’d surveyed them all and found them lacking when compared to the splendor of himself. There was a shadow of a ruler in Nandor that had not quite been extinguished by the passing centuries. Xerxes lording over the thousand nations of the Persian empire, arrogance unrivaled by gods or men. It made something hot pool low in Guillermo’s belly.

“I want you to be _honest_ with me. I know you hate my blood, I don’t understand why you keep _denying_ it—.”

“Your blood is exquisite,” Nandor snapped. “Any vampire with half a fang would be tripping over his cape to drink from you. Honestly, Guillermo, you can be _very stupid_.”

“Then why didn’t you ever drink from me?” Guillermo demanded. “I thought you hated the taste of me for _so long_. Do you have any idea what’s that like? Why couldn’t you have just tried?”

“I have already told you! I do not want to drink from you like other masters. If I had tried to feed like…like I was someone else, I do not think I would have been able to stop myself. It would have scared you away.”

“I’m not scared now.” Far from it, in fact. Guillermo was feeling distinctly brave. Emboldened, he leaned forward. “How would you like to drink me?”

Nandor bared his teeth. “I will show you.” And when Nandor gestured impatiently at the broad expanse of his lap, Guillermo found himself obeying without question.

The ancient chair groaned under the combined weight of them, echoing lewdly across the cavernous room. Guillermo sat rigidly, his spine as straight as a lightning rod. He was perched on the far edge of Nandor’s thighs. For all of his bravado, Guillermo was at a loss as to what was expected of him. Nandor was the beginning and end of sex—everything they did would be the genesis of Guillermo’s sexual history and, he was certain, the finality of it as well. So Guillermo sat, breathing heavily but otherwise motionless, his hands clenched on his legs while the meat of Nandor’s thighs, large and solid as tree trunks, pressed flush against his backside. And he waited.

When Nandor snaked an arm around his middle and pulled Guillermo back against his chest, it was like the drop of the guillotine. His life before this moment was over. Everything changed. _Viva la revolución_.

In a sudden and violent movement Nandor’s other hand had threaded itself into the hair at the base of Guillermo’s skull. Grasping firmly, Nandor pulled Guillermo’s neck decisively to the side, exposing the long column of his throat. “Just a taste,” Nandor hissed into his ear. He bent his face down into the hollow curve of Guillermo’s throat, his beard scratching sensitive skin and eliciting a shudder from Guillermo. The heated push of Nandor’s fangs pressed against the vulnerable expanse of Guillermo’s throat, and for the merest moment he imagined he could feel the elasticity of his skin give way, like a balloon popping against a pinprick. He never stood a chance.

Guillermo felt the first sucking pull as the blood started to flow in earnest. It _burned_. But the heat of the blood itself was nothing compared to the furnace of Nandor’s mouth pulling against Guillermo’s neck, lapping the blood with the greedy urgency of a tick. Guillermo felt the dueling sensations of Nandor siphoning the blood out of his body in a sticky stream while what was left of his vital fluid trickled downwards, engorging his cock. He felt distinctly used, and it left him aching.

When Guillermo felt the canines sink deeper into the meat of his throat and the tell-tale rush of wet, slick blood, he let out a guttural moan and nearly jerked out of the chair. He was immediately and painfully hard. Nandor’s arm pressed more firmly around his middle, stilling him instantly with ironclad strength. Guillermo’s arms were pinned against his sides, but his cock was still throbbing between his legs. He needed to touch himself, but he could not move. Nandor had him in a grip like a vise, suckling on his neck with the single-minded determination of a leech. And he did not seem to be intent on stopping anytime soon. Guillermo was feeling distinctly light-headed.

 _I can’t faint again_ , Guillermo thought desperately. “Master, please.” Guillermo’s voice was weak even to his own ears but the effect on Nandor was instantaneous. Nandor wrenched himself off of Guillermo’s neck so abruptly that Guillermo heard Nandor’s head thud against the back of the chair. Guillermo let out a small moan when the fangs slipped out of his neck. Around his middle, Nandor’s hand clenched convulsively. Guillermo felt his fingers catch in the fabric of his sweater and the great expanse of his hand pressing hot into the meat of his belly, far above the pathetic straining of his cock but still impossibly close. With the stinging pain of his neck and the anchoring weight of Nandor behind him, under him, and so recently _in him_ —Guillermo couldn’t stop himself. He spent against himself, locked in the rictus grip of his master.

“I told you it would be different,” Nandor breathed. If he was aware of the wet stain on Guillermo’s leg, he gave no indication of it. There was something thrilling in his indifference. “You see now why we needed to _practice_.” His voice was jagged and deep. Guillermo could feel it rumbling through Nandor’s chest. Reflexively Guillermo leaned back, the top of his head lolling into the curve of Nandor’s broad shoulder. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he peered upwards into the shadowed face of his master. Nandor’s eyes were closed and he was breathing very hard. Guillermo could feel the puff of hot air on his face.

 _I guess he does breathe after all. Mystery solved_. A half-mad giggle bubbled out of him, unbidden. He couldn’t help it, he was beyond exhaustion. Nandor’s eyes flickered open. At the sight of Guillermo staring up at him, Nandor very quickly looked away. He did not seem to want to look Guillermo in the eye. _That’s not a good sign_. But Nandor made no move to shift away, so Guillermo pushed the thought aside. There would be plenty of time later to agonize over every aspect of this night.

Nandor’s hand was still slung around Guillermo’s belly, but his grip had relaxed, freeing up Guillermo to move a little. Nandor was starting to slouch behind him. Guillermo tried to shift back for a slightly more comfortable position. At his movement, Nandor seemed to go rigid. And then—

 _Oh_.

Nandor very quickly pushed Guillermo off his lap. Guillermo fell hard to the floor, nearly knocking his head into the edge of the coffin. His glasses clattered off his face. Guillermo was crawling on the floor, scrambling to find his glasses when Nandor rose abruptly. He was visibly and obviously hard, but he seemed intent on ignoring it. “That’s enough for tonight, I think.”

Guillermo slipped his glasses back onto his face. He could feel the phantom press of Nandor’s cock in the small of his back. Guillermo did not stand. Remaining on hand and knee felt like a challenge. There was a strange power in it. Like calling a bluff in a card game with impossibly dangerous stakes.

 _I felt your dick_ , Guillermo thought absurdly. _You’re just as fucked up as me_.

Nandor was looking at him a little desperately. “We are stopping, Guillermo. Please go and do something productive while I—I go out for a while.”

Still kneeling, Guillermo looked up at Nandor. “I could polish your swords,” he said as flatly as he could manage.

A complicated series of expressions passed over Nandor’s face. But in an instant, he had transformed into a bat and scurried out of the room as fast as his wings could carry him. The dead travel fast.

Guillermo let out a shaky breath that he did not realize he had been holding. Kneeling on the floor of Nandor’s room, his pants stained with semen and fresh blood ringing his throat, Guillermo let out an exhausted and half-delirious laugh.

 _I should have done this years ago_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there was no full-on dicking and for that I apologize, but Nandor needs time to get into the swing of things. I might write first-time penetration at some point, but as it is, I think this can stand alone as it's own three-part thing. If you liked it, please comment. I really, truly enjoy reading comments on my work.


End file.
